Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
XII.
Let laughter leave thy youthful face,
Discard the comical grimace;
The prospect open'd to your view
Is comic, but 'tis solemn too.
So I demand your best attention,
To what concerning it I mention.
Discard the comical grimace;
The prospect open'd to your view
Is comic, but 'tis solemn too.
So I demand your best attention,
To what concerning it I mention.
Know, then, soon after life began,
Down from his rectitude fell man,
And on his hapless offspring hurl'd
The plagues and follies of the world.
Burning with envy, pride, and want,
On wealth they leer, with eye aslant;
And bound o'er justice, reason, law,
To catch a feather or a straw.
What's wealth, though gain'd at such expense?
The surplusage of competence!
And what is fame, that phantom fair?
Nor more nor less than empty air!
Titles! their owners only shame,
Who boast upon a vague nickname;
For no high-sounding appellation
Can raise man higher than his station:
Virtue alone deserves our praise,
And virtuous man should wear the bays.
Observe yon glory-hunting race,
Through dense and rare, the spectre chase;
Who, rather than their object lose,
Would death with all its horrors choose:
The orphan's cry, the widow's tears,
In vain assail their ruthless ears;
Wan labour do they eye with scorn,
From every earthly pleasure torn,
And poor low-stooping service spurn
Sheer from their door, ne'er to return.
Down from his rectitude fell man,
And on his hapless offspring hurl'd
The plagues and follies of the world.
Burning with envy, pride, and want,
On wealth they leer, with eye aslant;
And bound o'er justice, reason, law,
To catch a feather or a straw.
What's wealth, though gain'd at such expense?
The surplusage of competence!
And what is fame, that phantom fair?
Nor more nor less than empty air!
Titles! their owners only shame,
Who boast upon a vague nickname;
For no high-sounding appellation
Can raise man higher than his station:
Virtue alone deserves our praise,
And virtuous man should wear the bays.
Observe yon glory-hunting race,
Through dense and rare, the spectre chase;
Who, rather than their object lose,
Would death with all its horrors choose:
60
In vain assail their ruthless ears;
Wan labour do they eye with scorn,
From every earthly pleasure torn,
And poor low-stooping service spurn
Sheer from their door, ne'er to return.
Oh tyranny! thou curse on earth,
Pride and oppression gave thee birth;
Built on injustice and on power
Thus hast thou raised thy lofty tower,
Whose pinnacles have reach'd the skies,
And dazzle the beholders' eyes.
Thus Monarchy, with Papal sway,
Uninterrupted, lolls away;
While, to support its pomp and pride,
Through hardship, groans the world beside.
Yet let not this disturb thy rest—
Wherever virtue is, 'tis bless'd;
Calm, sweet, serene, life glides away
With him who walks in virtue's way;
Suns never scorch, frosts never freeze
Him who doth God and nature please;
Far more transporting joy he feels
Than he who in debauch'ry reels.
The warrior, fired with thirst of fame,
Lays cities waste to gain a name;
Depopulates whole countries wide
To gratify his damned pride;
And yet, black fiend! throughout the nation
Proclaims, 'tis all self-preservation!
And his vile colleague, brother cheat,
To keep his privy council seat,
Doth, echo-like, the theme repeat.
These keep the world in close turmoil,
Still stirring up some novel broil;
So great for wealth and power their lust is,
That stern oppression's styled bland justice.
Pride and oppression gave thee birth;
Built on injustice and on power
Thus hast thou raised thy lofty tower,
Whose pinnacles have reach'd the skies,
And dazzle the beholders' eyes.
Thus Monarchy, with Papal sway,
Uninterrupted, lolls away;
While, to support its pomp and pride,
Through hardship, groans the world beside.
Yet let not this disturb thy rest—
Wherever virtue is, 'tis bless'd;
Calm, sweet, serene, life glides away
With him who walks in virtue's way;
Suns never scorch, frosts never freeze
Him who doth God and nature please;
Far more transporting joy he feels
Than he who in debauch'ry reels.
The warrior, fired with thirst of fame,
Lays cities waste to gain a name;
Depopulates whole countries wide
To gratify his damned pride;
And yet, black fiend! throughout the nation
Proclaims, 'tis all self-preservation!
And his vile colleague, brother cheat,
To keep his privy council seat,
Doth, echo-like, the theme repeat.
These keep the world in close turmoil,
Still stirring up some novel broil;
So great for wealth and power their lust is,
That stern oppression's styled bland justice.
Some stray in rural solitude,
And seek for pleasure in the wood;
Oft do they linger thus away
Full many a precious golden day,
And ne'er the coy phantasma find;
If home they come, she's left behind:
Error on back of error lights,
And all their baseless prospects blights.
And seek for pleasure in the wood;
Oft do they linger thus away
Full many a precious golden day,
61
If home they come, she's left behind:
Error on back of error lights,
And all their baseless prospects blights.
Those vain air catchers are the race
'Mongst whom thou didst commence thy chase;
The object which thou hadst in view
Was as vague, and elusive too,
As what those dreamers now pursue.
Where is the prize? they have it not,
Though deem'd within their fist close shut.
But, open—they have gain'd no more
Than what they did possess before.
Thus didst thou in delusion rove
Within the Muses' fairy grove,
And in this Eden thought'st to dwell
Till trial broke the magic spell:
Then all around was wrapp'd in gloom;
Wide yawn'd the black untimely tomb;
No face appear'd but that of death,
With visage stern, to end thy breath.
I then, in pity and in love,
Did interpose, once more to prove
Thee: but this trial is the last.
'Mongst whom thou didst commence thy chase;
The object which thou hadst in view
Was as vague, and elusive too,
As what those dreamers now pursue.
Where is the prize? they have it not,
Though deem'd within their fist close shut.
But, open—they have gain'd no more
Than what they did possess before.
Thus didst thou in delusion rove
Within the Muses' fairy grove,
And in this Eden thought'st to dwell
Till trial broke the magic spell:
Then all around was wrapp'd in gloom;
Wide yawn'd the black untimely tomb;
No face appear'd but that of death,
With visage stern, to end thy breath.
I then, in pity and in love,
Did interpose, once more to prove
Thee: but this trial is the last.
Hold virtue then, and hold it fast:
Unmindful of the when or where,
Ne'er follow fancy's meteor glare;
Nor after glory cast thine eyes,
Which doth above thy limits rise;
Nor yet the course unduly hold
Which leads to Mammon's fane of gold.
Love virtue only—that is wealth;
Sweet nature's law—for that is health;
Search for true knowledge—that is grandeur
Which far outshines all earthly splendour:
And when grim death at last appears,
When from their orbits drop the spheres,
When rings the far-heard trump of doom,
To wake the tenants of the tomb,
When, tow'ring in th' effulgent sky,
God's judgment throne's erected high,
When trembling sinners fly the sight,
And try in vain to shun the light,—
The terror of these objects shall
Thee neither frighten nor appal;
God shall declare then, from above,
That he doth only virtue love.
And as the man is—is his sentence:
If bad, what signifies repentance;
If bad, kind Hope is fled for ever—
One ray of her he shall have never:
Consign'd to everlasting pain,
All retrospection then is vain,
Where injured justice, to and fro,
Doth haunt the dreary realms of woe.
Unmindful of the when or where,
Ne'er follow fancy's meteor glare;
Nor after glory cast thine eyes,
Which doth above thy limits rise;
Nor yet the course unduly hold
Which leads to Mammon's fane of gold.
Love virtue only—that is wealth;
Sweet nature's law—for that is health;
Search for true knowledge—that is grandeur
Which far outshines all earthly splendour:
And when grim death at last appears,
When from their orbits drop the spheres,
When rings the far-heard trump of doom,
To wake the tenants of the tomb,
When, tow'ring in th' effulgent sky,
God's judgment throne's erected high,
62
And try in vain to shun the light,—
The terror of these objects shall
Thee neither frighten nor appal;
God shall declare then, from above,
That he doth only virtue love.
And as the man is—is his sentence:
If bad, what signifies repentance;
If bad, kind Hope is fled for ever—
One ray of her he shall have never:
Consign'd to everlasting pain,
All retrospection then is vain,
Where injured justice, to and fro,
Doth haunt the dreary realms of woe.
Thy conduct from this sight improve,
Go cultivate the virtue love;
True love has eyes, true love has ears,
True love has both her hopes and fears;
Eyes, to behold a brother's need;
Ears, which no ill report can feed;
Hopes, that the best account is true;
And fears, least any want their due.
Then back to earth, reform thy plan,
And act the humble part of man;
With that, thou need'st no other guide—
For misery centres all in pride.
Go cultivate the virtue love;
True love has eyes, true love has ears,
True love has both her hopes and fears;
Eyes, to behold a brother's need;
Ears, which no ill report can feed;
Hopes, that the best account is true;
And fears, least any want their due.
Then back to earth, reform thy plan,
And act the humble part of man;
With that, thou need'st no other guide—
For misery centres all in pride.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |